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Michaelangelo - Slapp Happy |
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Lying back to paint upon the ceiling |
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No he never uses black just the colours of his feelings |
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He delineates saints on a sepia ground |
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His tamper like his paints is albumen bound |
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Work and toil well he ain't no dilettante |
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He conceives in oil and Vatican Chianti |
| [00:37.02] |
The rumour's out his hobby is dissection |
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And there ain't no doubt he knows the body to perfection |
| [00:51.31] |
Fourteen lines that's what makes a sonnet |
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It even rhymes |
| [00:56.05] |
Buonarroti's working on it |
| [01:05.75] |
Through the streets stricken by the urchins |
| [01:09.04] |
Wrapped in sheets round the town he's lurching |
| [01:12.68] |
Lurching to the church heavy with a vision |
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Continuing his search though they come with their derision |
| [01:19.95] |
All his works you just gotta see 'em |
| [01:23.70] |
Ask the clerks at your neighborhood museum |
| [01:41.83] |
Pope's on the phone calling Buonarroti |
| [01:44.84] |
But he's not home he's gone a little potty |
| [01:56.21] |
He's off again waving paints and brushes |
| [01:59.62] |
Round the bend to wind up in the rushes |